Page 115 of Brutal Heir

And then you take another bite.

He came close, brushing a curl behind my ear. "Don’t worry, mia piccola. I won’t disturb your sleep…tonight."

Had he emphasized tonight?

I leaned against the door. "Thank you. I’d like to be alone."

He cupped my cheek. "If you need anything, I’ll be sleeping right next door."

His kiss landed softly on my forehead.

As the door closed behind him, I frowned.

Next door?

CHAPTER 31

SABRINA

Ispent half the night with my ear pressed to the wall, listening for any trace of him—his voice, a cough, even a murmur in his sleep. But the palazzo was silent, its stone walls thick as a fortress. Sebastian had vanished into it like a ghost.

Well, it wasn’t as if I were going to sleep anyway.

I was far too excited for my first day at the House of Diamanti.

When I wasn’t pressing my ear to the wall like an idiot, I went over in my mind everything I’d Googled about the House of Diamanti back in Paris: the history of the company, the previous year’s collections, press coverage of their fashion shows, any formal photo shoot or magazine spread I could find.

And, of course, Sebastian.

I devoured every article, every photograph—Sebastian at charity galas, racing in Monte Carlo, lounging on antique yachts, always perfectly untouchable.

After sorting through countless business articles about major deals, diamond acquisitions, and record-breaking financial performance, I found the personal stuff.

There were also recent articles about his possible involvement in the death of a Sicilian mob boss as part of some revenge scheme for shooting the owner of the Cavalieri winery, but that was just gossip—too sensational to believe.

Oddly, there were no photos of him with any women, apart from his mother and sister.

No girlfriends, love interests, or even a speculative fiancée.

Nothing.

Until me.

A few fashion websites featured photos of me wearing the Yellow Persian diamond and appearing on Sebastian's arm, mainly in France and America, but nothing in Italy.

He had mentioned having a sort of control over the media here, but why would he care if someone photographed him with a woman he was dating?

And even if he did have some sort of influence, something always slipped through. A rogue tabloid. A stranger on the street posting on social media.

Something.

But I found nothing.

Nothing except photos of me with him.

How very odd.

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